He glanced around for a place—something, any soft spot where he could explore her in the way she deserved, in a way that would cement this memory for them both, but the cabin was stark and empty. A blank page. Creativity beckoned him.
“Put on your boots,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”
Had competitively retrieving a saddle with a mammoth hard-on been a rodeo event, Nat would have taken the golden buckle, twice over. When he cleared the door again, January Rose stood at cabin’s center dressed in her boots.
Only her boots.
Nat nearly dropped the forty-pound, two-toned custom leather armful at his feet. She was heart-stopping.
“You said to put on my boots.”
The taut muscles of her stomach shook on a chuckle. Breasts he had seen at the water’s surface the other night now hung with more gravity, more symmetry, more perfection. Her feet were planted wide, welcoming, the spread of her legs revealing the lips of her pussy glorious relief to the pink folds between.
A rope of lust thrashed him, gut to groin. He was as hard as a saddle horn.
Fuck him, she was a handful. In more ways than one. If they never left these four walls, he would die the happiest man who ever drew breath.
He retrieved the empty crate he had cast aside the night before, useless no more, and set the saddle atop it at her feet.
“Are you sure you want to use your saddle?” Her smirk was mind-blowingly adorable; her voice held a hint of twang in their newfound intimacy. “You saved up forever for that.”
He closed in on her earlobe, nibbled it once for good measure, then whispered, “I’ve saved up forever for you, too.”
Her lashes floated closed.
“I remember when you wouldn’t even let me touch it.”
“Now?” He clenched his jaw, aching to take advantage of her confident stance. He began a slow crawl south, first with his eyes, then with his lips along her collarbone, as he kissed punctuation through the truest sentence he had ever uttered. “I want you…all…over…it.”
A tiny shudder of arousal slipped past her lips before they stretched into a wicked smile. “Not until we even up the skin, cowboy.”
She tugged up his shirt hem. He helped free himself from the cotton, all while his heart stampeded clear out of his chest.
Her index finger traced the contours of his abdominal muscles then found a much more enticing subject—the head of his engorged cock, straining past the waistband of his boxers, past the lip of his jeans. With her index finger, she meandered a barely-there path along its throbbing, purple head.
Nat sucked in a breath, more determined than ever to keep his jeans on, to prolong every slick, unguarded, adventurous moment with her.
She leaned over and flicked her tongue across his tip’s slit.
A brutal hit of lust careened through his cock. His thighs shook. He nearly ripped his buttons free.
“That’s better.” January wrangled him close then lowered herself, side-saddle. With the rawhide end of a saddle string, she grazed her left nipple until it peaked. The moment her hot, eager gaze met his, she trailed the string past her navel to the light spray of golden brown hair between her legs.
“I’ll never look at that saddle the same way again.” A shuddering gallop of humor slipped past his smile.
“I’m just getting started. ‘All over it’ is quite a task.”
Instead of swinging her leg to the other side of the saddle, she slid her ass down slow, slow, slow enough that he forgot to breathe, down toward the seat jockey. She arched her spine along the seat, the length of her in a full-on back bend. Her breasts flowed liquid, stretched wide, their dusky centers pebbled at the tips. She spread her boots in a delicious bite of exhibitionist freedom, so January, so very ball-wrenching in every way, he didn’t know what to devour first.
“This is amazing,” she said, her voice thick with satisfaction.
Had he a functioning brain cell left, that would have been his exact thought. One of her postcards had been of a silhouetted woman practicing yoga on a cliff in India. On the back, she had written one word: Namaste. January had left an awkward teenager and returned a poised woman in total command of her body.
He circled to where her upper body draped from the seat and began a trail ride of kisses from her lips, up her sleek neckline to the peaked offerings riding high in the saddle. The scent of her desire filled his nostrils, told him she was more than ready. Her downy nipples made him instantly mindful of his callouses. He swapped his fingers for his mouth and sucked the tight nubs, mounting pressure against the roof of his mouth until her peach-like backside bucked against the leather and her hands groped for a hold.
She found one at the top button of his fly.
First button, gone.